


Death By Cheesecake

by misura



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Cookies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-08
Updated: 2009-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:24:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>If David Axelrod didn't so closely resemble a teddybear in both body and mind, Rahm thinks people might try to strangle him on a daily basis.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Death By Cheesecake

There's a postcard lying in a locked drawer of Rahm's desk and this is what it says:

'I never knew they delivered cheesecake in the Amazon.'

There's no real signature or return address, but there's one of those written smileys nobody ever used in letters before the grand new days of e-mail and texting, and there's something that might be a capital A, if Rahm squints, which he's never done because why bother?

Rahm keeps intending to lose the key to that drawer, only it's also got pictures of Amy in it, and the kids, and even a small black-and-white one of Stephen, shaking the President's hand and grimacing as if he'd rather be somewhere else, with Jon rolling his eyes in the background and Hillary wearing an expression that's so close to being identical to Stephen's it's not even funny anymore - the other Jon is standing next to Joe, his expression entirely too serious for someone who has somehow found the time in the past half year to conquer half the universe in one on-line game or another and host a Star Trek-marathon which only failed to be a Presidential entertainment thanks to the First Lady firmly putting her foot down.

There are stacks of pictures without names of people who owe him favors. He's stopped adding new ones about two years ago, and even before, he's limited the pictures to people he actually doesn't mind looking at. Fortunately, it's a big drawer.

Zeke's there, and Ari, and Shoshanna. His mother, frowning disapproval; his father, concern, perhaps.

In a fit of irrationality, he's also added a clipping of Nancy - he's forgotten which tabloid it's from or who took the picture and wrote the accompanying article (or so he keeps telling himself) but it's caught her in an unguarded moment of pure and utter rage. It's the best picture Rahm's ever seen of Nancy, and occasionally, he allows himself to imagine this is what she looks like when he's turned his head for a moment. ( _'Another fantasy, Rahm.'_ )

Rod Blagojevich is at the bottom, like a bad memory buried under better ones - a useless gesture because Rahm hardly needs to open the drawer to see the pictures it contains.

He could lose the key tomorrow, and it wouldn't make a difference at all, because he'll still remember everything that's in that drawer, down to the last detail on that insultingly tacky postcard.

Down to the last line on Nancy's face. (She'll never be _old_ , any more than she'll ever grow soft or tired; like Amy and Barack, Nancy is one of the foundations Rahm's built his life on, now.)

The cookie-jar on his desk is looking half-empty again.

( _'Half-full,'_ Barack would say, to which Rahm would think _'Same difference,'_ which he won't say out loud, because he knows Barack's reply would be something along the lines that if it's all the same to Rahm, he might as well say it Barack's way, which would be true, strictly speaking, but not the point.)

"Please tell me you're not making that face because of the news."

Rahm checks the clock. It's ten past seven. "What news?"

"I don't know; I haven't seen it yet." If David Axelrod didn't so closely resemble a teddybear in both body and mind, Rahm thinks people might try to strangle him on a daily basis.

He sighs. "Have a cookie."

"So, what's on your mind?" _'Have a cookie'_ apparently translates to _'Have two or three'_ in David's world.

"Anderson Cooper, Nancy Pelosi and the man who keeps stealing my cookies."

"It's not stealing," David says. "You offered."

"And I don't like cookies anyway."

"Nobody's perfect," David says. "It's small flaws like that one that endear you to us lesser mortals who actually need things like food, sleep and time to think about things."

"Rod Blagojevich."

David grimaces and takes another cookie. "Didn't your therapist tell you to think happy thoughts?"

"I don't have a therapist," Rahm replies, seeing the punchline coming already.

"That explains a lot."

"I've got you," Rahm offers.

"You've got me to eat your cookies. That's the extent of what I can do for you. I know my limits." David frowns at the by now nearly empty jar.

"I'll bring new ones tomorrow."

"Oh, good." The last cookie vanishes as quickly as the previous ones. "An empty cookie jar is a sad, sad thing, even if it's a state of affairs that's easily remedied." Rahm notes that thus far, he's never seen David bringing cookies of his own into his office. "One could wish, sometimes, that human relationships were as easily made complete and as they should be again."

"Let's not turn philosophical about a jar of cookies."

"It's empty, Rahm," David points out. "Without cookies, what else is there to do but turn philosophical?"

"You could find out what was on the news."

"An excellent idea. I assume that was what you were going to do yourself before I interrupted you?"

Rahm knows defeat when it's leaning against his desk after having devoured half a jar of cookies. "Sure."

David beams at him.

"If we're in luck, we might even get to see the President getting henpecked by the First Lady to come home only an hour late for dinner."

Rahm grumbles something. Occasionally, when things get really crazy, he fantasizes about Amy marching into his office and ordering him to take a break already. (A short one, of course, because she knows him - although once she's gotten him to stop thinking only of his work, it might turn into a slightly longer break, given that he's got a private office and a 'Do Not Disturb (Already Disturbed)'-sign, courtesy of Hillary.)

"You know, Rahm," David continues as the two of them head for the exit, "it often helps to say you're sorry, even when you're not and even when you were right and that other person was wrong."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," says Rahm.

"Yes, you do," David replies easily. "Just try it. Send him a cheesecake - assuming they deliver those wherever he is."

"They even deliver cheesecake in the Amazon."

"Well, there you have it, then," David says contentedly. "Cheesecake and cookies solve much more than you'd think. Trust me on this."


End file.
